(Split Story) A Second Chance
by taerkitty
Summary: What happens when a second-generation SWA cyborg is reassigned to a new handler? OC handler Stefan and cyborg Tiffy. AU branching before attack at St. Mark's Tower.
1. Home on the Range

_Bang_.

"Right. You're pulling the trigger too fast." The teenager lowered the monocular and sighed.

_Bang._

"Still to the right. Ease into the shot. It's not like jacking off. You got time."

"Hey, I'm trying my best here. Are you sure I have to do this with my left hand?" The shooter, a thin German dressed in loose khakis and a polo shirt, turned to look at his spotter.

"Would it help if I dislocated your right shoulder?" Her smile was neither sarcastic nor amused. If anything, it hinted at her imagining the scene.

He got the point and turned back downrange. "Okay, okay. Steady pull, steady pull." He squinted. A slight breeze cooled his brow.

_Bang._

"Close enough. Just do that, and you'll qual." She leaned back, lolling her head to the left and right.

_Bang._

"Right. Look, your last shot was decent. Just do it again, will you?" She exhaled slowly and lowered her head, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand.

"Cut me some slack, Tiffy. It's not like I have myomer muscles and carbon fibre laced bones. How about showing me how to do it right instead of just carping at me all the time?"

Tiffy stood from the bench, a one-piece picnic table, really. She stalked over to the frustrated man and whipped out her left hand, palm up. If anyone else was present, the pair would have looked quite odd - her, almost his height in spite of having the open and soft face of teen, her off-the-shoulder light brown hair unruly and unkempt. In contrast, the shooter's tightly-curled black hair was closely shorn, pin-neat.

"Gun."

He placed it in her hand. In one fluid motion, she thumbed the release and let the magazine fall free. Just as it cleared the handle, her other hand slammed the other magazine home. Continuing the sweeping movement, her left hand locked onto the center of the concentric rings pinned to the plywood stand downrange.

_BangBangBangBang. _

_BangBangBangBang. _

_BangBangBangBang. _

_BangBangBangBang. _

"_That's_ how you do it, Stefan."

He accepted the proffered Glock 19, stooped to pick up the half-loaded mag, and turned to face the target, its center neatly punched. He fumbled out the empty magazine for the other one, then released the slide.

_Bang._

"_Right!_ Goddamn it! I give up!" She stood from the bench and slammed the monocular on the chipped and weathered green paint. She took three steps back to the parking lot, stopped and turned.

Stefan turned, lowered his pistol, and pushed the hearing protector off his right ear.

"You know what, Stefan? I hope you _fail_ your qualification. I hope you get kicked out. That way, I don't have to keep saving your ass!"

He ejected the magazine, then slowly cycled the slide, careful to capture the unfired round in his palm. It was still warm, too warm to the touch. "Your next partner still won't be Corrado, Tiffy. No one will."

She whirled about. "Whoever it is, they'll be better than you! Goddamn it, it wasn't my fake arm that put those rounds on target like that. You know what it was?"

"I know, it was Corrado."

"Damn straight! I couldn't even eat with a fork without stabbing myself in the cheek when we started. That," she pointed at the target, "that's because he taught me. I'm trying to teach you, and you're not fucking _listening_!"

Stefan nodded. "I know, I know. And-"

She finished the sentence. "-this is exactly how he taught me. He expected _success_. Not 'my best'. You know what 'my best' would have gotten me?"

"You told me. A black eye."

"Or a split lip. At the very least, a backhand. If it wasn't for that damn mental injunction, I'd be teaching you exact-the-fuck-lee like he taught me. As it is, you're getting only half the shit he gave me if I turned in as craptastic a job as you're doing."

Stefan closed his eyes slowly. She was right. He was doing a piss-poor job. "You heading back?"

"To the car? Yeah. Your form makes my eyes bleed. I need a break."

"Tell you what. If you bring me the case of 9mm, you can take the car back home." He tossed her the keys.

"How are you going to get home?"

"I guess I'll walk. I got a lot to think about."

She smirked. "I bet. It'll be fun, lugging that huge box of ammo back. I'm sure those things weigh sixteen kilos, easy."

"When I'm fully kitted out for a job, it's twenty. Besides, I don't plan to take any back."

"What, you just going to leave the rest here?"

"No, I plan to leave all of it down there." He pointed at the target.

She shook her head slowly. "Suit yourself. Don't blame me if your finger falls off." She retrieved the case ammo and dropped it on the table with a satisfying thud.

He turned back toward the target.

"Remember, it'll be dark soon." She started the engine, not caring if he heard her.

He did. He was just deep in thought loading his magazines.

As she drove off, she thought her artificial ears picked up him whispering, "Steady pull, steady pull."

Tiffy kept to the speed limit even though this was all property owned by Social Welfare Agency, a cover for Italian Public Security Directive's Section Two counter-terrorist arm. The small practice range was a good five kilometers from the low and wide living hall for the Milan branch. She parked the car, but didn't exit. Why did they have to partner her with such a loser? Yeah, he was hot shit with computers, but was absolutely useless in a firefight. Why wasn't he Corrado? Why did Corrado have to die? Why did she let-

She slapped herself. Her hand came away damp.

That dinner, she sat alone in the cafeteria. The sun painted the sky maroon, then deepened to that grim brown of dried blood. Everyone else sat in pairs, one adult, one minor, be it a teen like her, or an older pre-teen. _That's what the doctors said,_ Stefan explained one night. _They say the implants have a better chance of working, the younger you are._

She flexed her arm. It was wiry, but not well-defined by any means. It didn't have to be - the synthetic muscle under her lab-grown skin was many times stronger than any normal human. It looked real, it felt real. Well, she was a little heavier than her size would suggest, but not by much. It wasn't like she was a Terminator, all metal and gears.

She picked at her pork loin. Some of the teams were light-hearted and merry, other somber and terse. _Why did I have to have the half-and-half?_ She loathed how soft Stefan was. He was weak, putty-like. He never showed any fire, any anger. The most emotion she ever detected was his voice going flat. She wanted to see that spark in him, that rage that Corrado had when she messed up.

No matter how she pushed him, he never lit up. He was no Corrado. _He never will be, either_.

She looked up. The dining hall was almost empty. Those partners that remained were deep in conversation. Hers was the only plate still with food. The sky was full black now. No Stefan. _The idiot must still be out there. No big deal. The range has lights_.

_But the road…_

She pulled up where they parked earlier. Sure enough, he was still practicing. The wastepaper drum was filled with empty fifty-round boxes. "Hey! Idiot! You're going to catch a cold!"

Stefan turned around. For once, there was heat in his eyes. His brow was knitted, his neck tensed. "I think I got it down. Check this out."

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. _

All on the money.

Tiffy honked the horn. "Great, great. Let's get home. I'm cold, even if you're not."

_There may be hope for him yet_.

* * *

Author's Note: This scene was originally a character study for the 'Rehabilitation Branch' shared setting on the "Cyborg Central" Gunslinger Girl Fan Forum off-site with ex-handler Corrado originally named Quentin. Stefan's race was changed from African-American to German to reflect the Euro-centric nature of the SWA.

This series of vignettes takes place in an alternate universe (AU) from the SWA timeline, diverging shortly after the Sandro/Petra character study arc. Dante's attack at St. Mark's Tower and subsequent evens in the manga are not part of this timeline. The SWA is still in the good graces of the Italian government, and funding was never disrupted so many non-canon second-generation cyborgs exist.

The Milan branch takes the fight to the Lega Nord and is staffed entirely with OCs. This collection of short fiction follows the canon in terms of setting, technology, theme, and feel. It does not utilize CCs.


	2. Down but Not Out

_**Trigger warning** _- domestic abuse, sexual abuse, verbal abuse

**_Rated M -_ **profanity, implied sexual activity

* * *

Every institution has its hallowed places, ones where heroism is lauded, and those departed are remembered. The Social Welfare Agency's Milan campus' memorial was an imposing granite wall adorned with twenty-three small brass plaques in two rows. From afar, they looked identical save weathering. As it was an outdoor structure, the earlier ones wore the heaviest patina while the newer ones still shone. As one drew closer, those most worn had inscribed a string of letters and numbers.

Each agent's serial number that was retired upon his or her death.

In front of this somber memorial stood Tiffy, scrubbing one blank plaque. It was not the newest, but was brighter than the rest, thanks to her regular visits. As she buffed it, she was not silent.

"Well, he did it. That idiot managed to pass the yearly qualification. God, it took work. You would have laughed your ass off at him."

She paused her cleaning, held her words for a bit, then nodded.

"I know you want me help him. I am, believe me. It's just so … so freaking hard. He's nothing like you. I've tried so hard this past year to get him to be more like you and … "

Another pause, another reply only she could hear.

"Yeah, 'what I do reflects on you.' Every time I come here you say that. Well, I'm trying. If nothing else, I'm going to keep him alive!"

Tiffy's eyes squeezed shut to deny those tears of weakness. She leaned into the wall, elbows and forearms framing the plaque, fists clenched tight and white.

"I'm sorry, Corrado. I'm so sorry. I wish it were me."

Her augmented hearing noted footfalls approaching. _Go the fuck away!_

Such was not to be. "Hey. You okay there, Tiffy?"

_Of all the people, at least it's her. Thank God for that._ "Oh! Hi there, Chi." Tiffy faked a smile and turned. "I was just … well, this is Corrado's plaque you know."

The lithe and lanky brunette with short spiky hair stood at a respectful distance, her hands clasped in front of her. "I know, hun. I think it's really great … no, that's not the word. I think you're very loyal, taking care of his memory like that."

Tiffy nodded slowly. "It's the least I can do."

"Yeah, I only met him a few times. He was very proud of you."

"He was a great handler. The best. I always knew he was proud of me. More important, even when he was correcting me, I knew he was doing it out of love. He wanted me to be my best, and that's the sign of a great handler."

"He sounds like he was a wonderful guy. I wish my handler was more positive like that. Corrado always showed you he cared, didn't he?"

Tiffy thought back to her happier days, times where Corrado shouted at her, slapped her, even punched her. "He did. After each mission, we always talked about what I did right, and how I could improve. I really miss that the most. Stefan is always 'happy with me,'" she said in a sing-song, mocking voice. "I'm losing my edge thanks to that putz."

That set Chi to thinking. "You know, that really doesn't make any sense. I'm much more like him than you are, so you'd think they'd pair us up."

"Well, you were already paired up with Renzo by the time he became our problem."

Chi approached and gingerly gave Tiffy a hug. "Keep the faith, okay? And say hi to Corrado for me. Tell him I'm sorry we never had a chance to work together."

Then, she broke the embrace and stepped back. "I wish I could talk more, but I have to go get some killhouse-time in." Before Tiffy had a chance to respond, she flashed a smile, turned and jogged off, the cobalt-blue butterfly tattoo at the back of her neck seemingly waving farewell.

Tiffy remembered how surprised she was when she first saw it on Chi - usually, cyborgs have all their distinguishing marks erased. Still, she was glad they left it. It was very pretty.

She turned back to the brass marker. "Chi says 'hi,' Corrado. And 'thanks,' though she didn't exactly say it." As she resumed polishing the star, she allowed her mind the bittersweet journey into the past.

Ξ§§§Ξ

The op was simple, to just sit in a café and note down the people who entered and left a building across the street. She had a Mamiya C220 camera hidden in a black shopping bag carefully aligned so the lenses pointing out of two holes in the bag was able to capture shots of each person. While the Mamiya was an antique shooting film negatives, it was upgraded with a custom autowinder, a remote shutter release, and a telephoto lens. The Agency took all this effort because the Mamiya's viewfinder was on top of the body, allowing Tiffany to nonchalantly look down into the bag and trigger the shot.

It was a simple op, and like most things so simple, it went south.

Tiffany was so focused on a person entering the storefront that the other girl was seated at the table before she could react.

"Simona! I knew it was you!" The other girl looked about her age, lean and gaunt, but not in the way that resulted in physical training. She looked undernourished, sickly. Her smile was bright, hopeful, but Tiffany saw a hint of nervousness in the small twitch.

"Uh… good to meet you."

"You forgot me? I'm Clara-Luisa, remember? You used to call me Claire?" Her eyes widened, and she looked like she was about to burst into tears.

"You must have the wrong person. I'm sorry, Clara. I'm Adrianna Paluzzi, and I'm waiting—"

"No, I know it's you! Don't you remember? We were at the Celentanos' house. You can't tell me you don't remember that hellhole!"

"No, really. You have the wrong person."

"Please, you have to help me! I've looked so hard for you since I saw you on YouTube."

_I was on YouTube? _"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry for trying to pretend I didn't know you, Claire. It's just that … I've been involved with some pretty, well, illegal stuff. I wanted to be sure you weren't someone else trying to pull a fast one on me."

Claire looked relieved. "Oh, I was so scared, Simona! It was just for one second, and it was so crowded, I wasn't sure it was you. I tracked you online all this way, and if you weren't Simona," she swallowed. "Well, if you weren't, I didn't know what I'd do!"

In spite of her alarm at not just being caught on video, but also being tracked here, Tiffany put on a comforting smile. "Well, you did find me. So, what's up?"

"Well, I finally had enough of 'Daddy' Celentano and ran away like you did."

_I did?_ "Go on."

"Well, that's about all. After you were gone, I tried to be like you. You know, strong and self-sacrificing. Like you did for us, I tried to shield little Lili from Daddy." Claire looked down and sniffled. She dragged a dingy sleeve across her face. "It didn't work. I told Daddy I'd do anything he'd want, say anything he'd want." She shuddered. "I never knew he could … well, you know what he was into. You had to take it. For us." She looked up with red and puffy eyes.

_What the hell? Was I that weak before I met Corrado?_ "No big deal. It was worth it. _You're_ worth it, Claire."

The other girl launched across the table and hugged her. Barely did Tiffany still her reflex to counter-attack. "Oh, it was horrible! And he thought I would _enjoy_ it! All I wanted to do was scream, but with that thing in my mouth, I couldn't even do that! I never knew you had to take all that for me!"

_Neither did I. Christ, I owe Corrado more than I thought!_ "Uh, listen. Claire? Claire? Let's not cause a scene, okay. Let's duck in that alleyway, that way we can talk about this in private." _Besides, the operation's blown anyhow. Still, I might get some good out of it if I can find out how she found me._

Once in the alley, Tiffany sized up Claire. She was skinny, bony even. The mere sight of her made Tiffany want to throw a few Euros at her and walk away. "As I was saying, you found me, now what?"

"Uh, well…" Claire couldn't look her in the eyes. "I was wondering how you were, you know, like what you were doing." She took a deep breath and finally faced Tiffany. "I mean, you look like you found yourself a good situation. Could you, like … take me in?"

"Depends. I have to earn my keep."

"What do you do?"

"That's not the point. What can _you_ do?"

Claire looked shocked. "Simona! How can you ask that? You know what a hell that place was! Did you know Lili ran away too? That's the only reason I left the Celetanos! If she was there, I'd probably be like you, pretending I wanted Daddy so he wouldn't go after her. After he put you in the hospital, I had to do that. I was waiting for you to come back. Why didn't you?"

Tiffany found herself supporting the crying girl's scant weight. "I … I couldn't take it anymore. I mean, it's like you said. I tried and I tried, but after he … put me in the hospital," she said with a bitter taste in her mouth at her pathetic and weak past self. "After that, I had to save myself. I was no good to you dead."

"I guess so. The first months were the worst. After that," Claire gulped air and staunched her tears. "After that, I just kind of got numb. Then he'd try something new, something more horrible. It'd hurt for a few weeks, then I got used to that, too."

Unsure what to say, Tiffany nodded.

"So, Lili ran away." Claire looked at her torn and ratty sneakers. "And here I am. Please, can you help?"

"It's simple. What can you do?"

Claire ran her hand through her dark brown hair. "Well, I found you, didn't I? I'm pretty good at finding people. Uh, I can search for things too, you know, online. It's not always, well, you know, legal. But I can always get what I want."

_A hacker. Well, that means it wasn't easy to find me, at least. _Tiffany nodded. _What the hell am I supposed to do now? I guess I need to learn how to be more careful online as well. Shit. Corrado is going to love this._ "Look, I'll call my boss, okay? We'll see what he can do, but no promises."

"Oh, thank you!" Claire fell to her knees sobbing.

Tiffany stepped back in revulsion. This girl was so weak that it made her stomach want to heave. She backed up until she was out of earshot, but still in view of that worthless pile of flesh and bones. She dialed her cell phone.

"Tiffany? What the fuck do you want? Can't I leave you to do a simple job and not have you fuck it up?"

_Ah, blessed strength_. Tiffany basked in that welcome blast, thankful that _somebody_ that understood how this world worked. "I got made. It's nothing, I can take care of it, but I wanted to tell you that before I did anything."

"Holy fuck. You worthless cunt. What sort of fuck-up are you in this time?"

"It's nothing. Someone from my past found me. She's just a runaway. No one will miss her if she dies."

"Can you ditch the body?"

"Sure, I'm next to a dumpster. Next garbage day, she'll be gone."

"Sounds good. You sure she didn't tell anyone? If not, you need to take her somewhere and make sure first, then take her out."

"I'm sure. She saw me on YouTube and then somehow found me online."

"You stupid bitch! You were on YouTube?"

"She said it was a crowd shot. There are so many cameras these days…"

"Yeah, I guess. Okay, I can buy that. Sounds good, may as well tie up this loose …" Corrado's voice trailed off.

Tiffany knew better than to interrupt him when he was like this. She just waited.

"So, how did she find you? I mean, seeing you on YouTube is one thing, but finding you, that's something else."

"She said something about searching for me online."

"Are you fucking around on MySpace?"

"Only to maintain the cover identities. Some of them have my face, you know. You were the one who said to make up a bunch of them."

"It wasn't my idea. Some stupid computer analyst did. It's a fucking waste of time, if you ask me."

"Yeah, I agree." _I have to admit, it is a little fun._

"Anyhow, the mission is fucked. Let's salvage what we can. Take her down. I'll send a car."

"Down?"

"Did I fucking stutter? Down! Take her down now, you fucking idiot!"

"Got it. Down she goes."

She put the phone back in her purse and walked back to Claire. Thankfully the whimpering girl had stopped sobbing. She still knelt there, head bowed, but turned to Tiffany. A desperate candle of hope flickered in her eyes.

Tiffany formed a practiced smile. "Good news. He's sending a car for both of us." She spread her arms out.

Claire flew into her arms. "Oh, thank you, thank you! I'll do anything your boss needs. Just put me in front of a computer, and it'll be done! You'll see!"

Tiffany nodded and guided them both to start walking down the alleyway. The main street was rapidly approaching when Tiffany's arm pulverized Claire's lumbar vertebra. She fell without a sound, overcome by shock.

"Down, but not out." Tiffany said to the prone, gasping form.

Claire's hair parted to show that beautiful butterfly tattoo in blue.

* * *

Author's Note: Chi is pronounced like the Greek letter X, "Kai", not "Chee" like Chinese martial-arts' concept of lifeforce.


	3. A Walk in the Park

Tiffy jogged up to the gatehouse for the rifle range. Oberto, the range master, was not at his usual place by the service window. With a bit of concentration, Tiffy focused her hearing and heard Oberto breathing heavily, rapid and steady. She smirked. While it was against the rules, she couldn't blame the portly man if he found some companionship of the intimate variety. With a shrug, she patted the Glock 19 holstered in the small of her back and turned around, ready to head for the training fields and see if all the killhouses were already spoken for.

No sooner had she started to take her first steps than Oberto's baritone sang out to her. "Oh, Tiffy! Didn't expect to see you here!" Oberto was sweating and winded, but fully dressed, unlike what Tiffy imagined before the turned.

"Oh, it's nothing, 'Berto. I just wanted to get some outdoor time in, that's all. The pipsqueak range is fine." She waved at him.

"I have a surprise for you - I managed to get my hands on a SCAR-H."

"Really? Those just came out!"

"I know, and I was holding just for you, Tiffy."

With an almost schoolgirl squeal, Tiffy ran up to the window. She didn't have long to wait; Oberto had the 7.62mm NATO beige rifle ready for her. Tiffy gave him a quick hug and winked. "Wouldn't want your lady-friend back there to get jealous."

"What lady friend? I was just cleaning."

"I'm sure you were. Since when do you get this worked up cleaning?" She playfully brushed back of his damp hair from his shiny brow.

"Since big shots from Rome decided to visit."

Tiffy shouldered the rifle, then retracted the stock and moved the cheek rest to the other position. "Senators, hm? Or Deputies this time? Either way, I better get my range time in before we have to pretend it's only adults here."

"Try the Head of the Public Security Bureau."

"What? When?"

"Tomorrow. Just got the news."

Tiffy ejected the magazine, pouted that it was empty and reseated it. "Well, the good news is that I don't have to hide." With a jaunty wave, she made for the 500m range.

Ξ§§§Ξ

The visiting entourage was more than just Bureau Head Monica Maria-Petris, though everyone did orbit around the dignified and austere grandmotherly figure. While not formally introduced, Tiffy gathered the man in the grey turtleneck and glasses was the Director for their sister branch office in Rome. The Director of the Milan branch, Antonio Colucci, seemed to fawn over him.

The others were all Social Welfare Agency. Awoman with brown hair and piercing eyes was the first female handler Tiffy encountered. She would have thought otherwise except the only girl her age among the visitors was looking to her between performing efficient scans of the surroundings. A bald man with a dark goatee in a white lab coat was obviously some science or medical professional. The last in the party was a tall man with blond hair and sunglasses, which seemed out of place in this hazy day.

Seeing as they were Agency personnel, Tiffy went about her morning routine following the same routine Corrado laid out for her from years ago - a 5km jog followed by a 500m sprint, then a mix of calisthenics and stretching for an hour. Fuming at the memory of Stefan failing to see the third hinge of a door after shooting the _only two_ hinges with 12 ga. Slugs, Tiffy pushed herself to her limit. In her frenzy, she could almost hear Corrado encouraging her. She began to give voice to those memories.

"Faster, asshole. Faster."

"Useless weakling!"

"_Move_, fucker. _Move!_"

The visitors, and Director Colucci, all turned. From the corner of her eye, she noted this and stopped, got up and waved. "Sorry! Was just pushing myself." _Because my idiot handler won't._

Colucci, in his whiny voice, called back, "As you were."

Tiffy tried to enter that frame of mind again, but was aware of the seven pairs of eyes studying her. Try and try, she couldn't find that perfect spot of focus. It was useless. She stood, letting them stare at her back. After giving then a lazy wave with the back of hand, she picked up her Glock and started to walk away.

"Tiffany!" It wasn't a voice she recognized.

Tiffy stopped, but didn't turn around. She took a deep breath, then exhaled so deeply she slouched. A second inhalation to try to quench that still that fire of annoyance in her also didn't help, so she started to walk again.

"Tiffany! Come here." Again, a foreign voice.

She gave them another backhanded wave, after biting her thumb. Facing away from them, she took a measure of silent satisfaction in how they couldn't see that obscene gesture.

"Tiffany, I know you can hear us. Come here, please." This was Colucci. They were all Agency, but she mentally justified her intransigence by deciding that if she didn't know who was speaking, she wasn't bound to obey. However, Colucci's nasal voice was too distinctive.

Tiffy turned and faced them. "Director, the name is Tiffy."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I-"

The blond man spoke for the first time. "Tiffany, the Bureau Head said to come here. So come here!"

Her right foot slipped forward, but she leaned back so it couldn't take weight. "No. My name is Tiffy."

"Your name is whatever we say it is. Your file says Tiffany, and I'm not going to play this game. Get down here, Tiffany. Now!"

Her stomach threatened to revolt. She stood and refused her feet's urge to comply. After staring at the black sunglasses shielding his eyes, Tiffy gave in to the nausea and retched. _At least I don't have to do what he says!_

Her throat burning and with breakfast soiling her shoes, she stood back up, as straight as the abdominal cramps allowed. She drew a bare forearm across her mouth, more smearing the effluvia than cleaning it.

The blond man stood there, his mouth pressed into an unyielding line. With his gloved hand, he pointed at the grass in front of him. She was about to comply with the silent request when he ruined it. "Tiffany, I order you to come here."

"My name is Tiffy! No one calls me Tiffany! No one! Not anymore!" As she shouted back, her body lurched forward. Her legs cramped in their current spot, those blazing aches she often welcomed after workout with Corrado, but not now. Not like this. As she was falling forward, her left leg shot out to support her.

She had just taken a step toward that asshole.

He smiled. It was a grim smile, not one that lifted any part of his mouth. The line formed by his lips only grew wider, but the meaning was clear.

Her right leg started to twitch, not from the cramp's blinding pain. Pain she could handle. This was subconscious, almost autonomous.

She was starting to walk down the hill. She was starting to walk down the hill, and that asshole was smiling.

As if he wanted to brand her with his victory, he opened his mouth again. "Tiffany, come here."

Her pistol seemed to appear in her hand. The other girl her age had pushed her handler onto the ground and had a Mini-Uzi pointed at Tiffy's head. At her eyes.

The blond man was unfazed. "Tiffany, you know we are with the Agency. You can't hurt us. You can't hurt us any more than you can disobey me. Now put that gun away and come here." He paused. "Tiffany."

She pointed the Glock at her knee and fired.


	4. Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Stefan had been to meetings like this before. "Post-mortems," they were called. Nobody died, though some may wish they had. It was almost a tradition in the tech industry. Something went wrong, and they hold a meeting. In good shops, the meeting followed the dictum, "fix the problem, not the blame." In the other kind, the meetings were blamestorms. Those were the ones that left someone wishing they were dead.

As he approached Director Colucci's private conference room, Stefan paused. _If this is the bad kind of shop, I might not have to wish I was dead. They might just fix that for me_.

He had never been to a "post action report review committee meeting" before. He knew they occurred, but he also knew they were not the norm. _Then again, having a multi-million Euro asset shoot herself in front of the woman who runs the Bureau of Public Security isn't the norm, either_.

Doctor Bertoni, Milan Branch's specialist in cyborg conditioning, was waiting for him by the twin oak doors. He gave Stefan a grave look, a worried look.

Stefan shrugged. He came prepared to tell the truth. Good shop or bad shop, in his experience, that was the best way to approach this. _However, that was dealing with fellow engineers, technical specialists, and researchers. No telling what intelligence officials are like_.

They entered, opening the doors simultaneously. As he expected, Colucci was present, but he was not seated at his usual perch, the head of the long conference table. Instead, a lean and angular elderly woman occupied that seat. She was gaunt, so gaunt her cheeks were hollowed and her cheekbones protruded. That thinness gave her a hungry look, one of a predator ready to devour not just prey, but fellow predators should they become careless. Bureau Chief Monica Maria-Petris, lifetime politician. _She has no intelligence experience, but I didn't have that much before joining Section Two, either_.

Also present were members of the Social Welfare Agency's Rome office, the original office. From the photos in Director Colucci's office, Stefan recognized his counterpart, a grim-faced man with greying hair and glasses. Also present was another doctor. From the way Bertoni shook his hand, Stefan was reasonably sure the bald man was another cyborg specialist.

Two handlers stood in the corners of the room, their eyes alert to any trouble. One was a woman, the first Stefan had ever seen. Her cyborg stood beside her, an oversized purse obviously concealing her weapon. The other was a man, his face as hard as any Stefan had ever seen. He, like the woman, stood at the ready, but his cyborg was not in the room. _Probably providing perimeter security_.

"Doctor Bertoni. Agent Meuller. Come in. Sit." Director Colucci's voice was already reedy, but it was almost a squeak today. When they sat, he continued. "We just saw your cyborg commit, ah, a grave case of self-injury, Agent Meuller."

"I know. I just came from Medical. They say she'll be fine."

Maria-Petris spoke, her voice quiet but unyielding. "I applaud their optimism, but I do not think a cyborg that is fine would shoot herself to disobey a direct order."

Stefan nodded, unsure what to say. Their bedside conversation was impeded by the drugs administered to Tiffy in preparation for her surgery. The doctors said it was a routine limb replacement, very clean and simple.

Her eyes bore into him. "So? Do you have any explanation?"

Stefan took a deep breath. He had no time to gauge the room, to see if they were looking for the true root cause, or simply to hang the responsibility on someone. On him. _Oh, well. Time to go with Plan A_. "Tiffy is very … protective of her former handler. One of the ways she protects her memory of him is to not answer to the name he gave her because it was something _he_ gave her."

"So you're saying that you permit that? Moreover, you support that?"

"It's a minor thing for me, but major for her. It's also in line with what I hope to shape her into."

The director from Rome spoke, his voice like gravel. "It's not normally the handler's place to shape the cyborg. This is very unusual, Antonio." He turned to his counterpart.

While Colucci shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Stefan took the floor. "The situation is very unusual, Director..."

"Lorenzo. Pieri Lorenzo."

"... Director Lorenzo. I understand these girls normally are designed to the handler's specifications. I believe this is the first time one of our girls has outlived her handler." Stefan waited for everyone's nod. "Her previous handler was quite ... forthcoming. Some might say he was abusive." He looked to Colucci, but the Milan Director was impassive. "She is exactly as he specified. Or was. I've made some headway."

The blond handler standing in the corner of the room stopped his scanning out the window. "I'm not sure I agree that's headway, Agent Meuller. If a cyborg cannot be counted on to follow orders, it is a danger to the Agency, not an asset."

Stefan glanced over to Doctor Bertoni, who gave a slight nod. "She can be counted on to follow orders, so long as they are within a specific set of parameters."

"That's hardly any use. There's no telling what you'll face out there." He made a wide wave with his gloved hand, ending with it pointing at the bulletproof window.

Stefan cleared his throat. _Now or nothing_. "Agent..."

"I'm Jean Croce. Don't call me Agent anything. Jean is good enough."

"All right. Jean. You wouldn't order your girl to grow wings and fly, would you?"

He glared at Stefan. In fact, Stefan was sure, were they alone, Jean would have killed him without a heartbeat's hesitation. "Rico's dead, Agent. Leave her out of it."

Stefan nodded and addressed the woman in the other corner. "Agent...?"

"Just call me Fio. We're not so formal in Rome. This is Soni." She patted the girl with a gloved hand. _What is it with the Rome branch and gloves?_ As he finished the thought, she continued. "I don't see how it matters, but I wouldn't order her to do something so ..."

Her eyes locked with Stefan's. Wordlessly, the thought was passed, acknowledged.

"...so impossible."

"Thank you. Think of Tiffy as being more limited than your average girl. Some things, some minor things, are impossible for her. Now, whether they are truly impossible, or she's just saying they're impossible, that's another matter."

"_We're_ the handlers. We're the ones who say what's possible and what's impossible."

Stefan turned back to Jean. "For our own girl. She's not _my_ girl, not in her mind. She's still Agent Corrado's. He's the only one who can tell her that."

The Bureau Head, silent until now, stilled the room with her quiet words. "He's the one who died, yes?"

"That's correct Madam Bureau Chief."

"Agent Meuller, Signora Maria-Petris will do quite well. Now, I understand standard policy is to recondition these ..." She looked between Jean and Stefan. "Ahem. These _assets_ before pairing them with a new handler, correct?"

The doctor from Rome cleared his throat and flipped through a folder. Stefan noticed that everyone seated had a folder in front of them. Then he noticed that he did not.

Stefan started to look at Doctor Bertoni's copy when Maria-Petris spoke. "Doctor Belissaro? You had something to say?"

"My understanding here is that she is nearing her expected end of life."

Before Stefan could respond, Colucci squeaked, "Yes, that's right. Why?"

"Then there seems to be little point in reconditioning her, Signora Maria-Petris. She has a year, two at most. And the conditioning process will only decrease that. Am I correct in reading these figures?"

Doctor Bertoni responded, "That's correct. Agent Corrado sent her into numerous situations without sufficient resources or backup, so she accrued many injuries. She's had her limbs replaced multiple times as a result. During the course of those surgeries, she's been administered nearly her lifetime operational limit of Condixionamental."

_Condixionamental_. Stefan frowned. The conditioning drug, required to perform the implants and limb replacements in the first place, then to stave off organ rejection. Because their very skeletons were laced with carbon fibre, the cyborgs were destined to take it for the remainder of their lives.

It had three side-effects, two the Agency used to its benefit – under the right stimulus, the recipient was very susceptible to subliminal suggestion. _A fancy euphemism for brainwashing_, Stefan thought as his lips pursed. The cyborgs were brainwashed to give their lives for their handlers without hesitation, and most were furthermore conditioned to love their handlers unconditionally. That, and Condixionamental was addictive at the doses they used. _They are slaves. Slaves to their handlers, and slaves to the Agency_.

The other side-effect was the deleterious effect it was having on their minds. Their memories would start to fail, then conscious motor control. As the mind further regressed, even their autonomous motor control would start to fade. Their bodies would stutter and catch. The only mercy was that their minds were so degraded they would be in a coma. The last sleep was a peaceful one.

Stefan counted himself lucky to never have seen this firsthand. However, as the first-generation cyborgs in the Rome branch started to evidence these symptoms, notes and memos were sent to the handlers to watch their own cyborgs for signs of imminent failure. Given that the Milan branch was entirely resourced with second-generation cyborgs, none had gone this way yet. Some had died in the line of duty, but none suffered that slow slide to their final end. _Tiffy was going to be the first_.

"Agent Meuller! Please answer the question."

Stefan's focus snapped back to those seated at the table. He hadn't realized he was so deep in thought that they … what were they asking?

"I'm sorry. I was, uh, my mind was elsewhere. My apologies. What was the question again?"

The doctor from Rome, Belissaro, took a deep breath, clearly annoyed. "Given her limitations, what could you hope to shape her into?"

Stefan nodded, acutely aware all eyes were on him. Even Soni, Fio's cyborg, had stopped her continuous scans of the windows and door to focus on him. "I want to change her back into a normal girl. I want her to be at peace with herself when she dies."


End file.
